Silent Treatment
by breeeliss
Summary: "Don't try and absolve yourself of guilt. You and I both know you fucked up beyond all comprehension. I don't want anything you're trying to offer me right now. No apologies, excuses, stories, explanations, justifications, none of it. I just need one thing."


**Title:** Silent Treatment

 **Rating:** T

 **Summary: "** Don't try and absolve yourself of guilt. You and I both know you fucked up beyond all comprehension. I don't want anything you're trying to offer me right now. No apologies, excuses, stories, explanations, justifications, none of it. I just need one thing."

 **a/n:** Something really old that I found in my folder this morning that I decided to finish and post.

 **OOO**

 _Silent Treatment_

 **OOO**

Murdoc opened the door to be greeted with a violent punch in the face.

He felt the cartilage in his nose crack, and he barely had the time to celebrate the new break before the vertigo sent him backwards and tumbling to the ground. At first, with blood rushing from his nose and dripping to his lips, he thought the Black Cloud realized he wasn't really dead and had come to finish the job. Murdoc had started to reach for the switch in his back pocket, but through the hazy vision and pounding temples, he just managed to see small feet pushed into worn trainers, tiny, delicate ankles, and knee high socks.

But then, a head dropped to the ground. A head fashioned from scrap metals, old copper wires, machine oil, and faulty motherboards, peppered in scratches, scrapes, and bulletholes, artificial features permanently morphed in shock and anger. It was kicked forward, and it collided painfully with his ribs, ripped wires exploding from the severed neck and scratching against his skin.

"Here's your fucking guitarist back."

Her voice sounded like something broken put back together, laced in venom and poison that was meant to slowly kill and make one suffer. And, shit, Murdoc felt himself suffering. It was rare that he ever felt frightened, but allowing his gaze to creep up over knees, legs, wrists, elbows, and arms that were covered in bruises, scars, scrapes, and burns made his heart curl up on itself.

The mask was gone and there was nothing left to hide. She was all sharp angles, full lips, and high cheekbones now — beautiful, precious, and wonderful. But the lines on her face were hard, her eyes were dead, and that awful bruise with yellowing edges was still blossoming across her face.

Murdoc's hand was tracing his android's pulverized wiring while he stared at his girl's face, and he spoke without thinking. "It's good to have you back."

But she didn't hear it, or she didn't want to. She stomped past him with just a small duffel and a worn guitar case, ignoring him like he was just another pile of garbage in the corner. She left him feeling dizzy, empty, and confused. Or perhaps that was just because of the blood still running down his face.

Noodle used to be associated with a lot of silly, small things that Murdoc forgot he missed. Melted crayons, chocolate chips snuck into pancakes, Powerpuff girl marathons, smiles lined with crooked baby teeth, Les Paul guitars, Gameboys, and long afternoon naps. They were things so at odds with himself, but things that didn't make his chest so heavy and made that burn in the back of his throat that he constantly numbed with liquor hurt less.

But, like most things, he fucked that up too.

Now she was strong vodka drinks, cigarettes ashed in morning coffee, dark circles under darker eyes, silent nightmares, long scars, blue bruises, and sharp expressions that looked so bizarre against a sun kissed face. Noodle was always a precious enigma — something to offset the dysfunctional imbalance of their group. It was half a marketing scheme and half a survival mechanism that was always appreciated if not necessary to their sanity.

But Noodle slotted herself comfortably into the band's roughage to the point where they were all undistinguishable. All four of them lost themselves in some combination of too many pills, too many cigarettes, too much alcohol, and too little sleep. Russel, Murdoc, and 2D have been living that ugly life for years, and Murdoc thinks he may have just pulled Noodle right into it too.

However, Noodle didn't make any of that look ugly. It looked positively beautiful on her, and that wasn't ever something he said about anyone.

It seemed like such a horrible thing to romanticize, but despite how weathered she looked and how much she seemed to still hate him, Noodle stayed just as perfect as she used to be. Even with smog curling out of her mouth, with an empty wine bottle at her feet, and with sleepless eyes staring forlornly out the window, she was a vision — one that Murdoc couldn't get out of his head. He wondered if it was to absolve himself of some guilt — make it seem like Noodle's maturity wasn't something completely awful.

But Noodle made it clear that she had nothing she wanted to say to him, which left Murdoc alone to agonize over whether her trust was something he could ever grab back.

That never became lucid until one evening — a month after Noodle, 2D, and Russel's arrival — when Murdoc made the strange decision to not bother with finishing that shit bottle of scotch he'd swiped from the liquor store the other day and just head to bed instead. Ending a migraine with sleep sounded a hell of a lot better than trying to numb it with that bottle of piss still sitting barely touched in the cabinets. He liked to think he wasn't the desperate sort of alcoholic, anyway.

But he barely had a chance to undo his trousers and throw them into the corner of the room before he managed to see a small flame flickering and sputtering away in his pitch dark room, somewhere near where he was sure his bed was. For a moment, he wondered if he accidently summoned something when he stumbled into his room this afternoon drunk, looking for old records to play on his radio show, and stumbling upon a few old Satanist tomes instead. But the flame touched the end of a cigarette, and Murdoc's eyes slowly began to adjust to see a pair of pink lips, a straight nose, and two thin fingers pinching the fag near the second knuckles.

"Your room is too dark. Plus, I'm pretty sure there's something living under your bed."

Murdoc scoffed and tried to keep the shock out of his voice. After all, who the hell was brave enough to come into _his_ room? "Didn't plan on entertainin' much in here."

He entered the room cautiously and reached over to click on a tall lamp that he rarely ever used. It gave off an extremely dim light, but it was just enough for him to see Noodle lounging against his headboard, smoking and idly clicking a lighter on and off. He was too sober for him to be imagining things, so it had to have really been her. But she pushed past him yesterday when he bid her good morning and slammed the door to her room in his face before he could even blink or ask for an explanation. She didn't respond to him. She pretended he didn't exist, and they've lived tortuously through that reality for weeks.

Now she was in his room — on his _bed_ — smoking like nothing was amiss.

He had to ask. "What're you doin' in here?"

Noodle lifted a familiar box of fags and shook them while keeping her eyes on the lighter. "I ran out, so I stole some of yours."

Murdoc frowned. "There's a fuckin' store on the corner. Buy more."

Noodle shrugged. "It's raining. Didn't feel like going out."

Her eyes were lighting up and looking impossibly green every time the lighter flickered on near her face, and Murdoc found himself staring again before he answered gruffly, "So you shoved off to my room, is that it?"

Noodle smiled around her cigarette. "Cozy little hovel, isn't it?"

Murdoc rolled his eyes, and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Well, fuckin' get out. I need to sleep."

But Noodle either didn't hear him or had no intentions of doing such a thing, because she merely shifted across the sheets in order to create a slot to her right just big enough for Murdoc to lay down in. He narrowed his eyes at her, but she was busy ashing her cigarette on his nightstand and lighting up a fresh one. All strange behavior coming from her, but he was fuckin' tired, and he wasn't about to question Noodle and her strange habits. She was full of them after all. No use in causing a fuss.

Still, when he did sit on the edge of the bed and pull himself up to lean on the headboard as well, he scowled and said, "I meant shove _out_ , not shove _over_."

"You'll survive."

She was clicking the lighter again and Murdoc decided to resign himself to the fact that Noodle had no intentions of leaving and had no intentions of letting him sleep. He held his hand out for his box of smokes. "If you're gonna stay, at least gimme a light."

Noodle pushed out one stick and let Murdoc pinch it between his teeth and pull it out before reaching up and lighting it up for him. He vaguely noticed the weird way she held the lighter — sideways, like she was tipping the flame out — as well as how tiny her hands were and how long and thin her fingers were.

Murdoc sat there with her, smoking through the rest of the pack in his dungeon of a room, and feeling like he couldn't really say anything lest he fuck up the first and final time Noodle decided to cop him a break. But it didn't mean he wasn't hyper aware of the girl when something was seriously wrong with her. He'd been breaking her out of nightmares since she was ten. He knew a bothered Noodle when he saw one.

Her hands were trembling whenever her hand came up to her lips — which were bitten and red and chapped like she'd been chewing on them all day. She was clicking her nails together — something she did when she was nervous and on edge before shows — and her shoulders were bunched up so close to her ears he was sure it looked like she was about to curl up like a little girl and hide her head in her knees. All this happening while Noodle was sitting in the dark in Murdoc's room which wasn't exactly known for being comforting in any capacity. Which means she came here for — what? Hoping he, of all people, would be here? Nothing could have been _that_ bad, could it?

Deciding that the worst thing she could do is storm out like she usually did anyway, Murdoc said, "Y'know, I might be a hypocrite for sayin' this, but I'm not so good with the mixed signals."

Noodle scowled. "This doesn't change anything. I'm still mad at you."

"Figured as much," Murdoc deadpanned. "So why the bloody fuck are you here?"

Noodle took a long drag before answering. "Can't stay with Russel. 2D's drugged out. So that leaves you…"

Murdoc reached for another smoke. "Why do you need to stay with anyone — ?"

"Don't," Noodle interrupted sharply, turning to him in annoyance. "Just...stop reading into things so much. I told you. Nothing's changed."

"You say that, love, and yet you're shakin' like you got half your life scared outta you," Murdoc insisted. "I ain't stupid. What happened?"

Noodle pulled her knees closer to her chest and leaned her forehead against the top of her knees. She pressed the heels of her palms into her temples. " _Nothing_ , I just...I don't need your rubbish attempt at emotional support. It's just you're the only one who knows."

"Knows what?"

Noodle turned to him, sharp eyes filled with vitriol and exhaustion. "You know what."

"If you're going to stay here and bitch to me about keeping you company, then you need to be a little bit more clear about what the fuck it is you want," Murdoc snapped back.

Noodle rolled her tongue against her teeth. "You've been where I've been," she said simply. "And you've seen what I've seen. Take a wild fucking guess."

Murdoc saw the muscles in her jaw tense and pulse, and he didn't think he'd ever seen her face look harder than it did now. She reeked of that kind of bitterness that you only learned by seeing the bright, beautiful things about life taken away from you, spit on, and drowned in salt and brine. He knew more about that kind of bitterness than he ever wanted to.

He could remember right around that time where he thought walking across coals and offering a quarter of the blood in his body for the sake of a deal was worth it if only to get a taste of all those thick, gooey, warm feelings of indulgence that had entranced him when he was a kid. It was also around the time that he realized most people weren't all that good, and they eventually wound up downstairs under the dirt choking on mud for eternity. He almost wanted to laugh because it was just so damn horrible and perfect all at once. He winced and swallowed back the burn in his throat. "You really did wind up in Hell...didn't you."

Noodle snorted. "Beelzebub sends his regards. He says to quit forgetting to polish that bass of his and to remember you still have to pay up."

"So you've spoken to him?"

Noodle smirked cruelly. "He made it a point to make sure we were _very_ well acquainted once I arrived."

Murdoc didn't completely understand the severity of that statement, and he was rather sure he didn't want to try. But no good ever came from running into one of the princes of Hell. After Murdoc had made his deal, he'd spent years learning how to get a handle on the dark energy and dark memories that had stuck onto his skin and seeped into his mind and kept him in constant fear. There was no doubt that Noodle was probably going through the same thing. Beelzebub had that nasty effect on mortals. He was hoping that she never really wound up there, and hoped even harder that she didn't encounter any trouble.

"Nightmares come first," Murdoc told her pathetically, realizing that advice was the only thing he could offer her. "It's why drinking helps. When you're pissed, you don't dream all that deeply. It's gonna last a long while, but...they're not real. And they'll get better."

But Noodle merely laughed. "Oh, it's gone way past that now," she informed him. "The nightmares have been going on for years already. Don't know if you noticed, but I've been gone quite a long time."

Murdoc winced at the snub, but pressed on. "Then why are you here?"

Noodle rolled her eyes, yanked down on the collar of her sweatshirt and tipped her neck towards him. Murdoc squinted in the dim lighting and was just barely able to see three long claw marks that raked down from her neck and sloped down to her collarbone. They were raw and freshly scabbed over, and Noodle's muscles were tensing underneath and making them pulse angrily. "How do you keep them from coming after you?"

Murdoc immediately reached out to touch the marks but Noodle smacked his hand away and lifted her sweatshirt back up, her eyes telling him silently to keep his hands away. She was pointing her finger at him. "No. No, no, don't you do that. I just asked a question."

"I need to see them, Noodle," Murdoc insisted harshly, his harsh tone hiding the sinking feeling in his chest. "Some bottom feeder literally sunk their claws into you — "

"And I handled it," Noodle snapped. "By myself. Just like I handled being down there in that cesspit _by myself_. If it hasn't already been made apparent, I don't need you to protect me after all. All I need is your professional opinion."

"Professional opinion?" Murdoc mimicked. "You're coming in here shaking like a leaf, trying to pretend everything is okay, and expect me to treat this like a goddamn consult?"

Noodle turned her entire body towards him. "That's exactly what this is. I'm not a Satanist, I know nothing about demons, and I don't know how to keep them from crawling out of the shadows and killing me. I'm here to ask you how to stop it."

"You're making this seem like it's normal," Murdoc said back. "You don't think that _maybe_ this is something you should be worried about?"

Noodle snorted at him again — that condescending little smile on her face like she was about to drag his ego through the sand and leave it festering there — and reached across the bed to pull up the sleeve of his shirt. She grabbed his wrist and shoved it in his face, her thumb quickly running over the base of a long scar that reached up from his wrist and twisted all the way around his forearm like a snake. "You forget that I'm not stupid," Noodle muttered. "Remember this? Ten years ago. When you came screaming and bleeding out of your bedroom and said you cut yourself on a rum bottle. Did you honestly think I believed that?"

Murdoc stared down at his scar, immediately remembering the slimy, scaled, feathered, and clawed creature that had snuck under his door and latched onto his arm that evening, scratching and sucking at his skin as if it were trying to pull something vital out of him. At first he thought he was having fever dreams, mixing drugs and alcohol when he had no business doing so. But when it happened twice, three times, four times, ten times, he realized that perhaps he'd brought more back with him than just a few nightmares. It's why he started telling the band to stay the fuck out of his room, why he started buying books and books on demonology and spending nights on end trying to translate them for answers, and why he secretly relished in the time he spent in jail, because at least it meant he didn't have to sleep alone.

He wiped a hand down his face. "It was none of your business," he offered lamely.

"Yeah? Well it's very much my business now."

"Look, there ain't anything to be done about this," Murdoc said. "When you go to Hell, you're not supposed to come back. So when you _do_ , you leave a trail. A stench. The little low-level buggers that spend their existence lapping up the blood of sinners still strung up on the rack? They fucking snag onto that stench like a bloodhound. You're at the end of it. So am I. Do the math."

"I've gathered that!" Noodle shouted. "Those leeches wouldn't stop smelling me and pining after me like I was some gourmet meal they were all too excited to have. Maybe this hasn't hit you yet, but I almost _died_ down there! Meanwhile you're prancing about, not a care in the world, with some sick, cyborg copy of me. It's all your fault!"

Murdoc _felt_ her anger with him. But he wasn't allowed to touch her let alone comfort her, and he realized that he had botched things beyond belief, and was struggling to find ways to fix it. He was floundering around for an explanation, an answer, something to soften her glare, remove the edge from her voice. "...I...you know I never meant for you to — "

"You promised me," Noodle said, her voice beginning to shake. "You promised. That I was going to be safe. That I could leave you, and be safe. You lied. You fucking lied to me."

"I screwed up!" Murdoc screamed over her. "I got that! I went and fucking got that the minute I lost you. But it's said and done, and we are where we are right now. I've spent the entire time you were gone being sorry about it!"

Noodle's face didn't betray a single drop of sympathy. "Tad late for that now, isn't it? Unless your 'sorry' is going to keep these demons from coming after me, I don't want it."

Murdoc sighed and tried to reach out for her hand before she pulled it away. "Please, love. Please, I'll help you. Just let me explain first."

"I don't want your explanations."

"I need to tell you what went wrong," Murdoc insisted. "You need to understand, it wasn't my —"

"Oh, wasn't it?" Noodle replied. "Don't try and absolve yourself of guilt. You and I both know you fucked up beyond all comprehension. And just as you so eloquently stated, there's nothing to be done about it. I don't want anything you're trying to offer me right now. No apologies, excuses, stories, explanations, justifications, none of it. I just need one thing. Tell me how to keep them away from me."

"Let me take care of you," Murdoc tried once more. "Noodle, I just — "

"What?" Noodle snapped tiredly. "You just what?"

Murdoc sighed out harshly through his nose. Everything that he wanted to say was in his head, but it wasn't coming out properly. He was sorry. He had no idea things would go wrong. He didn't mean to put her in danger. He should have called off the shot. He should have forgotten about the video and paid more attention to her. He should have paid attention to her scared little face staring back at him from the cameras. He was sorry he dragged her straight through his rot. He was sorry she was suffering right along with him now. He was sorry that his awful luck managed to bleed out and infect her. He was so more sorry that he'd ever been in his fucking life, and she was the only person he was willing to cut his heart out for if it meant that she could keep on living better than she was.

It was an affection for her that he couldn't have possibly recognized in someone else, and he wanted to tell her that, yes, he cared. He cared more than he wanted to admit, and he just wanted to get the chance to stich themselves back together so he could spend the rest of his life making sure she knew that he cared for her _so_ damn much.

She was a Noodle that was bruised, burned, and ripped around the edges, but she was still Noodle — beautiful, bright, darling Noodle and he didn't want to lose her.

He tried once more. "We can fix this together, alright? I'll show you everything you need to know."

"Murdoc," Noodle muttered back to him. "Just tell me what to do."

"You can't keep — "

" _Tell me._ What to do."

She was done fighting. He could see it, he could tell, he was _always_ able to tell when she was tired and done. But now she was done and tired of _him_ and it made him feel like she punched her first straight into this chest and pulled out his innards, and had no intentions of letting him live without feeling its pain. Opening his mouth just dug him further into a grave, and Noodle was all too happy to fill it up and leave him in it.

He pointed lamely to the tall lamp he'd flicked on when he first came in here. "There's a book underneath the lamp. It's got one chapter bookmarked. About wards. The reason they don't come in here anymore is because I ward my room when I'm sleeping. Teaches you how to do it. Just gotta make sure you put them back up every month. They only last one moon cycle."

"That's it?"

"That's it. It's all in the book. You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out."

Noodle shifted off of his bed, pocketed the rest of his cigarettes, and pulled the book out from underneath the lamp. She opened the book immediately to the correct chapter, and he watched her flip through the pages and scan her eyes quickly over the old, faded words. She was nodding to herself while she did this, and seemed to have understood everything she read because she slammed it shut and tucked it under her arm. "Thanks," she said shortly.

"You're welcome," Murdoc assented.

She was running her fingers over the spine of the book she was holding, rubbed the side of her neck where the scratches where, and chuckled. "You know," she stared. "I'm never going to rid myself of you. I leave, and I come back, and you're always there. It's like I'm always going to need something from you." She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm stuck with you. I can't believe this…"

Murdoc swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up in front of her. "Noodle, we need to talk about this."

Noodle frowned at him, yanked open the bedroom door, and shut off his lamp, drenching his room in darkness once more. "No we don't," she sighed tiredly. "That I even said what I said to you was my own fault. But I'm not kidding this time. I have nothing else I want to say to you."

Murdoc's whole body was starting to ache in fear. "Noodle...doll, please."

Noodle rolled her eyes. "Don't fall asleep smoking again. We're running out of hiding places, and we don't need you to burn this place down too." She slammed the door behind him, and left him sitting there in the dark.


End file.
